The Smell is Stronger than the Cigarettes You Smoked Yesterday
by Theresalwaysacatch
Summary: Roxas contemplates the time he spent with Axel and the band. He's still angry, but when Axel comes to visit things get all confusing again. Random iPod challenge. Implied AkuRoku


**A/N:** Part of the Random iPod challenge. (If you wanna join in on the fun, you can see the rules on my profile). The jumping off point for this one is "Traffic Music" by the band Hjaltalin. It's kind of a weird song, but if you like indie music, give it a listen. It's beautiful.

Anyway, go forth! Read! Review! Enjoy!

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The Smell is Stronger than the Cigarettes You Smoked Yesterday

Roxas strummed a few notes on his guitar. He'd propped his feet up on the thrift store coffee table and laid back onto the moth-eaten couch, the one speckled with Pollock-esque stains of various color and dubious origin. He stayed like that while he hummed to himself over the drone of the news. On the TV, a busty reporter gave some moving speech about a gummi crash in the Keyblade Graveyard. Roxas watched as her mood switched schizophrenically from somber to lighthearted to accommodate a promo for a puppy parade in Disney Town. After that, her personality switched again. This time, she tried to bring out her inner, manic fangirl for a report about Aefid and the Moths. They were coming to Twilight Town tomorrow, she squealed. Roxas knew this, of course. He knew their tour stopped here for exactly three days before moving on to Traverse Town. He knew their drummer, Cloud, was currently in the throes of a heroine addiction. He knew their pianist, Saix, never got along with anyone, least of all the band members he was forced to deal with every day. And he knew their guitarist, Demyx, used to live around here with Aefid, whose real name was Axel...He sighed. Axel...A few more notes played.

The phone rang and made him jump. He sprang up to check the caller I.D., and, on seeing it, put the phone back in its charger without answering. It rang until the answering machine beeped obnoxiously. "Hey, Rox! Roxy-baby, Roxy my main man! It's your manager, Xiggy. Remember me? Heh, just kidding. You could never forget someone so great, right?" Roxas scoffed. "Anyway, you still haven't gotten back to me about that interview with Zexion. The reporter guy, remember? Short. Gray hair. Talks like he a fuckin' walking dictionary or something. So yeah, not to ride you but I need an answer, like, TODAY, ok? TODAY. ASAP. RSVP and whatever other frikkin abbreviation there is for GET THE FUCK BACK TO ME AS SOON AS YOU HEAR THIS. So, yeah, that's all. Have a nice day. Toodles."

After jamming his head against the wall a few times, Roxas sat back on the couch. Things...weren't going great. For one thing, there was Xigbar. Nuff said. Then there there was the problem of fangirls, every time he tried to get a latte or find something to eat besides ramen noodles or pick up the mail or do anything that constituted him stepping outside. Also, there was the added pressure of his fast-approaching tour through the multiverse. He'd put it off as long as possible in the hopes that Xigbar would cave and stop suggesting it. But, Xigbar said, without a tour within the next year, Roxas'd fall off the map. He was right, of course. Xigbar may have been an asshole, but inept he was not. Rolling Stone had given him the title "best manager money can buy" for a reason. Although "Xiggy" hadn't factored in the possibility that Roxas actually _wanted_ to fall off the map...

Roxas' eyes wandered to the ashtray on the window sill. It used to sit on the coffee table. He hated that; how it used to stay right there, smack dab in the center of the living room. Smelling up the whole space. He hated anything that had to do with smoking, really, after his parents did it so often when he was a kid...but some habits people couldn't quit so easy. He understood that. He looked to the picture on the fireplace, now laying face-down. Boy, did he understand that.

Now he'd found himself, on occasion, missing the smell of cigarettes. Or maybe he just missed the person who carried that scent. Years ago, he'd been part of a group called The Intent. It was a small, unknown band at the time. Only hipsters and scene kids came to the coffee shop concerts; they liked the obscurity or some shit like that. It always pissed Roxas off how they never seemed to be there for the good music. But soon enough, things changed. One hit was all it took. One song—My Heart is a Photo Album. Shitty name, yes. But the tune was catchy, and after it got on the radio a few times, everyone person between the ages of 7 and 27 was hooked. Truth be told, it wasn't their best song, but the band was eternally grateful for it. It was the single that gave them a name, the song that turned them from losers to rock stars, from The Intent to Aefid and the Moths.

And Roxas had written it.

"Maybe that's why-" he mumbled to himself. The phone rang again. This time he anticipated another message from Xiggy, and didn't get up. Instead a different but familiar, high-pitched voice came through the machine.

"Heyyyy Rox. I couldn't catch you at your fancy mansion, so I figured you were crashing at our - um - your shitty apartment. Wassup?..." Roxas felt his heart jolt painfully, and tried to convince himself that the current angina was due to his poor, ramen noodle-coffee-and-whisky based diet and his unhealthy tendency to sit around in tour buses for the majority of the day, rather than the sound of Axel's voice. "...So, I'm sure you know we're dropping by Twilight Town soon. Demyx wants to see you. He'll be crying like a little bitch if he doesn't get to, and I'll have to deal with that for the next two months...So, er, have mercy on me and let us come visit? Promise to God we won't be long. Anyway, our - or - your crappy ass answering machine's prob'ly gonna cut me off soon so-" The machine beeped. Roxas hopped up off the couch and walked over to the piece of junk. It'd be best, he thought, to delete the message. But just as his finger reached the erase button, the phone rang again. He jumped back, then, composing himself, waited for the machine to answer it.

"Hey Rox, me again. Just wanted to say...we all miss you. You know that already, though. Look, Demyx is saying he can't come over tomorrow. He's visiting his parents or something. But...I'd like to." Roxas sighed. "And...if you don't pick up right now I'll assume you want me to see you. Silenceiscompliance bro. K bye!" Roxas jumped to grab the phone, but by the time he clicked the talk button, Axel had hung up.

"Shit," he mumbled. That was so like Axel. Doing whatever the hell he wanted, friends and family be damned. Well, he was not in the mood for Axel's shit. He never was. _That_ was why. That was why Aefid and the Moths lost their songwriter months ago.

He thought back to the night it all happened. Demyx had been pressing Axel to listen Roxas' newest lineup. It was a few weeks after My Heart is a Photo Album, after their move to stardom. Axel kept shaking his head, and finally after enough pestering, he explained his reluctance with those words that Roxas couldn't forgive—"My Heart is a Photo Album sucks." Roxas remembered it all so clearly. Remembered how Axel took a shit on the crowning achievement of the band, on Roxas' crowning achievement. Of course, Axel had been right. It did suck, and Roxas knew it. But he also knew that it was what people wanted to hear. It was that same consciousness of the public that had blasted Roxas to fame so early in his solo career, which had started right after that day, after he told Axel to take his shit out of their apartment because he didn't want him around anymore.

Roxas laid back down on the dilapidated couch. He used to write good songs. Ones that had meaning, ones that he thought could evoke...anything, everything. They were songs that could make people feel. But, as it turned out, people didn't want to feel at all. That was why Aefid and the Moths didn't do as well as he did. They focused too much on quality. In reality, all you needed was a good agent, a baby face, and a decent voice. Anyone could do it, really...Roxas sighed. He pulled out some Scotch and started pouring.

xxx

The next day, a knock on the door woke him up. His head ached like crazy. He rubbed it as he looked around. Apparently, he'd fallen asleep on the bathroom floor, with his face resting against the toilet bowl in case of vomitus. He never failed to amaze himself. He was, truly, living the dream.

He'd gotten up to brush his teeth when he heard another, harder knock on the door. A wave of fear came over him—was Xigbar making a house visit? That was bad. He only did that when things were about to hit bottom. Roxas considered the scene he'd woken to and shivered. He gave his teeth a half-assed, hasty brushing, then ran to the door. After flinging it open, he began apologizing profusely for his lack of response about the Zexion interview. When he caught a glimpse of the tall, borderline anorexic red-head standing before him, he stopped.

Axel grinned that shit-eating grin of his. "Roxas! I was sure you were gonna duck me, but here you are."

Roxas facepalmed. "...Here I am." He'd meant to skip out before Axel got here.

Awkward silence filled the space between them. "...You gonna invite me in?"

"No." Roxas hissed. He shut his mouth, momentarily shocked at his own tone. Shaking it off, he continued. "No, Axel. You know I don't want you here. I told you never to come back, remember? Or did that piece of information just slip your mind?"

"Roxas, we haven't talked in months-"

"And whose fault is that?"

"Yours." Axel said.

Roxas saw red. "My fault? My fault? After you dis my songwriting, the songwriting that made _you_ famous, put _you_ on all the late night talk shows and got _you_ rich, it's _my_ fault we haven't talked?"

"Rox, I've tried calling you nearly every day. I just can't seem to get through."

"God, did you just ignore everything I said?"

"No, but-"

"No buts! You never listened to me. Not when we got this apartment, not when I started writing for you. I had to force you to agree to singing My Heart is a whatever. Remember that?"

Axel frowned. "Still angry, huh?..." He sighed. "Roxas, I never accepted your first drafts of stuff because I knew you could do better. You just needed some pushing sometimes...But you were great, man-"

"I still am." Axel gave Roxas a look. "Don't make that face at me, Axel. I'm fuckin' rich. Salary-wise, I put your entire group to shame. It's ridiculous what I make in a year and I'm not even trying!"

"No, you're not trying, and that's the problem!" Roxas quieted at the assertion. "Look at yourself, Roxas. You're angry all the time, bitter. You never used to be like that, even when we had to work two jobs to pay the bills...You should've seen your face at that first gig we played. I'll never forget it. You were so...so proud of us. Of yourself. Now what are you doing? Selling out, making that pop crap they can manufacture anywhere."

Roxas scowled, lowering his voice. "Don't lecture me."

"...Roxas."

"You smell like cigarettes."

Axel sighed. "I imagine a person who smokes a pack a day would."

"A pack a day?" Roxas didn't mean to sound worried when he said that. He also didn't understand why his recent case of angina started acting up so badly just then.

"God, Roxas, hyperbole. Heard of it?"

"You smoke more than you used to, though, don't you?" It smelled thicker than he remembered.

Axel's eyes moved from Roxas to faux-tile floor. "...I am sorry, for everything. I'll tell Demyx you're out of town. See you around."

He turned to walk away, as Roxas muttered "...I miss the smell of cigarettes...a bit."

"What?" Axel's face lit up.

Roxas blushed. "N-nothing. I didn't say anything."

"Right...So can I come in?"

"No," Roxas hissed again.

"Are you sure-"

"Yes." He closed the door before Axel could try to persuade him otherwise. Knowing Axel, though, he was still waiting outside.

Sure enough, the crimson-haired bastard started knocking a few seconds later. "Roxas?" He called from the other side. "I got you tickets for our concert. It starts at 8. You don't have to come if you don't want, but...think about it, ok?" Three stubs slid in from under the door—one for each night. "Kay, I really am leaving now." Roxas listened as Axel's footsteps dissipated, then bent down to pick up the used tickets. They had Axel's signature on them, which essentially made them backstage passes. Right. Like he was going to use them. He shuffled back over to the sad excuse for a couch, grabbed his guitar, and started strumming. His mind wandered back to earlier days on that same couch, after everyone had come back from work and they'd scheduled late night jam sessions. Cloud smiled more back then, so did Axel. So did he. They never seemed to get anything done those nights, but still...

The guitar hummed a peaceful tune. One he hadn't heard before. He liked it, so much so he opened his mouth and started singing "You bang your drum, you wonder if and why and when...You're co-min' home, you should be leaving in Decem-ber-" The phone whined. He jumped to get it and, after checking the caller I.D., smashed it back into the receiver. The answering machine beeped. "Rooooooxxxxyyyyyy where the hell are you? It's your favorite guy, Xiggy! Anyway, guess who just booked you for The View? You know, that one morning show where all the women just are at the tail end of menopause and one of them has a lisp or something? You guessed it; **yours truly** got you on Friday's episode! That means you need to get your ass TO THE AIRPORT! TOMORROW AT 6! OR I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL UNLEASH THE UNHOLIEST, POP-FILLED, MILEY CYRUS-CHARGED HELL ON YOU! Anway that's all for now. I heard Aefid and the Moths were in town. They're not bothering you are they? Right, so toodles. See you 6 pm tomorrow~" The machine clicked. Roxas pulled out the Scotch.

xxx

The day started like the last, with Roxas' face pressed up against the toilet and his head pounding. He floated through splashing water on his face and getting dressed in the clothes he wore yesterday (because, really, who gave a fuck? Certainly not him). He found himself on the couch again, flipping through channel after channel until he landed on the news. The same busty, schizo-reporter from the day before occupied the screen. He clicked the TV off and grabbed his guitar, strumming thoughtfully while he stared at the ashtray on the window sill. The phone rang. He got up to see who was calling, and after he did he ripped the phone-and-answering machine's plug from the wall. As he sat back on the couch, he soaked up the silence like a sponge. His hand wandered to his jeans pocket and pulled out the ticket stubs a certain maniac had slid under his door yesterday. He sighed. He should've shredded them right after he got them, sacrificed their papery bodies to the scissory God of mechanical wonders. He didn't, though, just like he didn't burn the picture of he and Axel on the mantel or break the ashtray that was still sitting there obnoxiously in the window sill, waiting for Roxas to nudge it over to its old spot in the center of the room.

"Fat chance," Roxas mumbled under his breath. Only a few seconds later did he realized he was arguing with an inanimate object. Sighing, he reached for the Scotch.

It was then that he discovered the bottle was dry.

He sighed. He couldn't drink. He didn't want to go to the concert, not after Axel came in and tried to lecture him. He didn't want to get on the plane and go to The View, where a bunch of old ladies who didn't listen to his music would ask him about his hair and what it means to be a teen idol when he was really in his twenties. He sure as hell didn't want to go outside, where he would almost certainly be mauled by a mob of crazed, hormone-rabid teenagers...

"I'm tired," he mumbled. Then, standing up he repeated it. "I'm tired." A third time he said it, shouted it, "I'M TIRED!"

And with that he went to bed and slept, and the phone didn't wake him because it was unplugged, and when Xiggy came banging on his door the next day and threatened to break in he didn't answer and when the day after that Demyx came and whined and begged him to open up he kept sleeping. He kept right on sleeping and waking up and fidgeting around under the cheap but cozy comforter until he fell back asleep again and entered a dream world where beautiful evocative music flowed through the background and everything smelled, strangely, of cigarettes. The cycle repeated until the third day, when Axel came up to the door. It would be the last day Aefid and the Moths were in town.

"...Roxas?" He called from the other side. "I know Demyx tried to talk to you. Although," he laughed, "can understand why you didn't answer then...Roxas, open up. Please?" Pleading didn't really suit Axel. "You know what? My Heart is a Photo Album was...okay. Really." Roxas wrapped the blanket around him and walked over to door. He sat down in front of it, sighing and scratching his bedhead.

"No it wasn't. It sucked."

"Roxas?" He could visualize Axel's face brightening.

"You should get to the multiplex. They're gonna need you for soundcheck soon, right?"

"Roxas? Are you coming tonight? It's our-"

"Last show in Twilight, I know." Roxas hit the back of his head against the door frame. "You really need to get going, Ax. Soundchecks can make or break a show. That's what Xiggy says, anyway," Roxas scoffed at his own mention of the one-eyed monster..

"Xiggy?"

"Yeah, my manager. You know him; Xigbar."

"...I see...Well...remember those tickets are backstage passes. I signed'em and everything."

"Get going, Axel. You're gonna be late." Roxas closed his eyes as he waited for Axel's footsteps to recede. It took a full five minutes for that to happen, but eventually everyone leaves. Not always because they want to but because they have to. Roxas shuffled back to bed, but this time, no dreams came. He lay awake until eight o'clock, then onward. It wasn't until seven in the morning that he decided alcohol was the only thing that could help him grab some shuteye at that point.

First he was going to have to find some way to step outside the house without being mauled by his surprisingly robust fangirls (seriously, on one occasion a group of them managed to crack two of his ribs). Luckily this excursion shouldn't've been too hard, considering most of the crazies were probably sleeping off Aefid and the Moth's concert finale from last night...their last concert here... Roxas shook it off and started changing. Five layers of hoodies and one pair of old sunglasses later, he stood outside. The ABC store waited a few steps from his apartment, which meant practically nothing because sometimes the more avid stalkers camped outside his entrance. A trip to the mailbox could be just as deadly as a cross-country tour—moreso, possibly, considering on cross country tours you had an 18-wheeled screaming metal deathtrap to protect you-

To his surprise, though, no teenagers lay sleeping next to the gate, and he slipped out into the wide world with ease.

Twenty paces later and he stood before the front door of the liquor store. He was doing good today, especially considering the terrible disguise (or, near lack thereof). He pushed the door open, feeling all proud of himself, only to see that a wave of fangirls had clogged most of the aisles of the market. Luckily, the place where he got his Scotch was still free. He looked from the congestion, to the crappy whisky, which sat close to the hubub. Was it worth it? Didn't take long to answer that one; enough weak alcohol could still get the job done. Within seconds, he'd grabbed a bottle and slinked over to the cashier.

"You sure are lucky." The lady said as she popped on a piece of minty gum. "That over there," she pointed in the general direction of the mob, then leaned in close to whisper, "...is Aefid." Roxas' heart pounded. "You know, from Aefid and the Moths?"

Roxas lowered his shades. He knew what that felt like. He couldn't get a good look into the mass of fandom. Before he could stop himself, "Axel?" slipped from his tongue. He couldn't just stand by and let his friend be mauled-

"O my God. Omygod. I know that voice. You're...YOU'RE ROXAS!" The cashier screamed. Well. Looks like coincidence was gonna force him to help anyway. The aggregate mass had already started to pounce when Axel's voice cut in.

"Yeah! All of the old band's here, actually." The mass turned back to him and froze. "Um, uhhh..."

"Right! That's right," Roxas agreed. The crowd turned in unison towards him. "Demyx drove...I heard he and Cloud...are, uh, going steady! The car's in the parking lot but you probably won't wanna disturb-" The fangirls had swarmed the exit by that time, and, after Roxas and Axel took a half second to flash each other a knowing glance, they sprinted for the apartment.

After they got upstairs in one piece and finished huffing and puffing, the two of them paused, looked at each other, and laughed until their sides ached.

Axel smiled as Roxas chuckled to himself. "A Christmas miracle."

"It's nowhere near Christmas, Axel."

"Whatever. A regular miracle, then. I haven't heard you laugh like that in months. Think I'll celebrate by taking a smoke in our old home." Axel pulled out a cigarette, and Roxas frowned.

"Not in the apartment."

Axel whined, "I always smoked in the apartment."

"I always asked you not to." But as Roxas saw a broken look creep into Axel's eyes, he sighed. "Although it looks like you might get eaten alive if you go back outside." Axel perked up. "What were you doing in a liquor store, anyway? Isn't smoking a bad enough vice by itself?"

"Says the alcoholic," Axel snickered. "Eh," he shrugged. "It's been a rough couple of days."

Roxas' eyes fell to the ancient, patterned carpet on the floor. He had a feeling he had something to do with that.

"Er...Anyway," Axel grinned. "I think I'll let myself in." He yanked a key out of his pocket and started fiddling with the doorknob.

"Wait," Roxas said. "You mean you had a key this whole time? All these months?"

Axel nodded. "You never changed the locks, either. I could've barged in any time I wanted, dum-dum." After wagging a chastising finger at said dum-dum he disappeared into the room, and went into a monolgue about how much he missed this shitty couch and that shitty coffee table and this-here shitty answering machine.

Roxas stood beside the door, dumbfounded. "You could've. But you didn't." He mumbled. And after he went inside, too, he found that he couldn't keep a smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth. He grabbed the ashtray from the window sill and put it in its rightful place on the coffee table, in the center of the apartment.

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Hope you guys liked it! Leave a review, if you would. Or not. But know that you will have my eternal love and affection if you do. :)


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